


entire summer i've been gifted

by catalysis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: California, M/M, Shotgunning, Summer Vacation, american chain restaurants, calific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysis/pseuds/catalysis
Summary: Sakusa wants like he always wants, but maybe this time, he canhave.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	entire summer i've been gifted

**Author's Note:**

> warning for recreational drug (marijuana) use  
> \--  
> title from donor by bay faction, which i also put on [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3PdvRhGuKWDEUC2kdc95BF?si=wy4yvJmFRyCfFuczq2jHYw)

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.  
These, our bodies, possessed by light.  
Tell me we’ll never get used to it._  
-Richard Siken, _Scheherazade_

Kiyoomi’s never liked summer. It’s too warm, makes him sweat, makes his clothes cling. Makes him miserable, in general.

He tends to bundle up even more in summer, spurred on by the sight of more and more exposed skin on other people. The idea of accidentally brushing against someone else’s sweaty arm makes his stomach turn. Being an athlete, you’d think he’d be used to it. But he isn’t and he kind of hopes he never is.

There was a generally understood rule on his college team and among his (read: Komori’s) friends that he isn’t to be touched unless he’s the one to initiate contact.

But with every rule, comes an exception. There’s only one person who he might maybe, possibly, want to touch him unprompted. 

It’s a shame that it’s the same person who’s too polite, too understanding, to ever cross that boundary.

☀☀☀

It was impossible not to be drawn to Wakatoshi. He was calm, commanding, respectful, respected. Everything that Kiyoomi wanted to be himself.

He thinks back to seeing Wakatoshi neatly fold up a handkerchief and wonders if Wakatoshi could fold him up like that. Tuck him gently away from the world.

Kiyoomi's always hated trailing behind. Whether it be in class, to the showers, or to nearly anything else. But maybe he doesn't mind following a half-step behind Wakatoshi.

But the half-step becomes a full step when Wakatoshi graduates and goes pro. He's a natural star and Kiyoomi’s left behind. Kiyoomi’s never felt more sluggish than when he moves into his third year of high school, and there’s still four more of college.

He’s not sure if he'll ever catch up.

☀☀☀

Kiyoomi dreams of running, his shoes slapping against rough, gritty asphalt.

He’s chasing something. No. Someone. They're wearing a bold purple and white jersey with the number 1 blocked across the back. It has to be someone important but he can't quite remember who.

He runs and runs until the soles of his shoes melt down and then his socks wear through and then his bare feet are pressing raw into the dirty pavement. He doesn't dare stop running though.

He runs and he runs and the figure gets close enough to recognize.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” dream Kiyoomi calls. The figure in purple stops.

As Wakatoshi turns to face him, the ache in Kiyoomi's feet spreads to his stomach, spreads to his hands.

He reaches out and just as he's about to touch, he wakes up.

☀☀☀

Kiyoomi half expects Wakatoshi to move to somewhere far away like Oita and never speak to Kiyoomi again. He doesn’t though. Instead he settles even closer than ever. It’s strange, Wakatoshi being in Tokyo. It’s even stranger that Kiyoomi is allowed to see him more than once every few months.

But what might be the strangest thing of all is how Wakatoshi doesn’t seem to mind the company. He lets Kiyoomi get so, so close. It’s almost painful how Kiyoomi inches closer but can’t ever bring himself to touch.

Kiyoomi wants to reach out and touch and be touched. He wants but he knows he can’t have.

☀☀☀

Kiyoomi graduates from Todai and doesn’t feel any more settled. The college degree was just a backup plan. He really only wants to play volleyball. So it should have been a dream come true when he got scouted in his junior year. MSBY was an excellent team and there was no real reason for him to refuse.

No reason other than the fact that they’re based in Osaka.

See, Tokyo’s his home and he doesn’t know how he feels about leaving 22 years behind. Yeah, memories. That’s definitely the only thing he’s going to miss. 

“What are your plans this summer, Wakatoshi-kun?” Kiyoomi asks, even though he’s received the same answer every year for the past three years.

“I’m going to California,” Wakatoshi says. 

Kiyoomi can feel the tiny grains of time scrape his palms as he desperately tries to hold onto them. This summer’s the last time they’re going to be this close. After this, they’ll be back to being a two-hour train ride apart. Will they still see each other at all? Or will practice and matches and _life_ get in the way?

Will Wakatoshi forget about him in California? Kiyoomi knows that he isn’t that memorable, but that doesn’t mean it’ll hurt any less.

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to say something; he’s not sure what, but probably something useless like, _have fun_.

But Wakatoshi beats him to it. “You should come with me,” he says.

And Kiyoomi shifts in the metal cafe chair. It creaks treacherously. Huh? Surely Kiyoomi’s misheard.

“Your practice doesn’t start until August, right?”

It’s more spontaneous than Kiyoomi can ever remember being. But then again, nothing to do with Wakatoshi is ever spontaneous. If Kiyoomi looks behind him hard enough, he’d probably find the gradual climb leading up to this precipice.

He can stay standing there forever, or he can choose to fall.

☀☀☀

Okay, maybe falling wasn’t such a good metaphor. As the plane nears the end of the runway, Kiyoomi’s hands clench in his lap.

It's too cramped, even in the business class seats Wakatoshi had paid for. A "graduation gift", he'd called it. Kiyoomi never imagined him to be the gifting type, but then again, he never imagined himself being the travelling type either. Maybe he knows them both less than he's convinced himself.

When the plane lifts off the ground, Kiyoomi feels the rattle of the seat and the swoop of his stomach and digs his nails harder into his palms. They're damp, disgustingly, adding insult to injury. 

“Are you okay?” Wakatoshi asks from beside him.

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi grits out, despite all of the evidence to the contrary. He takes a few shallow breaths, very aware of the fact that he’s breathing recycled air.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Wakatoshi reach into his backpack and pull something out. The thing, bulky and blue, is offered to him.

It’s a travel pillow. Kiyoomi hadn’t thought to buy one; hadn’t thought he’d need one. 

Kiyoomi carefully fits it around his neck and takes a deep breath of the soft, familiar fragrance of Wakatoshi’s detergent.

☀☀☀

Wakatoshi makes his way through the airport with all the same confidence he does everything else with.

Kiyoomi, though, isn’t too sure of what he’s doing, but he answers the customs agent’s questions in polite English, and he must answer correctly, because the customs officer waves him through with little fuss.

He spots Wakatoshi standing near the automatic doors casually putting his passport away. He spots the person standing next to him a second later.

 _Iwaizumi Hajime_ , Kiyoomi recalls Wakatoshi saying, when he’d clumsily asked about the photo he’d caught a glimpse of on Wakatoshi’s phone screen. _Iwaizumi Hajime_ , Wakatoshi had said, the syllables soft and crisp, tone heavy in a way that Kiyoomi hadn’t heard before.

They both look up as Kiyoomi approaches. There’s a beat where Kiyoomi’s done shuffling forward but none of them say anything.

Wakatoshi clears his throat. “Sakusa-kun, this is Iwaizumi Hajime. He’s the friend we’re going to be staying with.”

 _Iwaizumi Hajime_.

Kiyoomi nods politely. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he offers in exchange.

Iwaizumi nods before pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He twirls them idly as he says, “Follow me.”

☀☀☀

There’s a futon piled onto the couch, but other than that, the apartment is impeccably tidy.

Kiyoomi had been a bit hesitant when Wakatoshi suggested they stay with a friend of his (even more so when that friend turned out to be _Iwaizumi Hajime_ ). But, looking around, Kiyoomi supposes his fears were mostly unfounded.

“I'm sure you guys are tired from the flight, so you can rest for a little, and when you wake up we can get dinner?” Iwaizumi suggests.

“That would be nice, yes,” Wakatoshi says.

Kiyoomi watches Iwaizumi gently nudge their bags aways before unrolling the futon onto the floor. He only vaguely remembers the last time he’d slept on a futon. The memory carries the haze of childhood, when things were sweeter and easier. When he could sleep and dream of something other than running.

☀☀☀

Kiyoomi’s never been to an Olive Garden before. But it’s almost exactly how he expected an American chain restaurant to be.

Almost. He pointedly does not think about how close Iwaizumi and Wakatoshi are sitting. But other than that, the food is starchy and greasy, the booths are squeaky, and the twelve ice cubes in his glass hurt his teeth.

Wakatoshi’s left to use the bathroom when Iwaizumi says, “He cares for you a lot, you know.” He takes a long sip from his glass of water.

Kiyoomi watches the long line of Iwaizumi’s throat bob as he swallows before he answers. “I know.”

Kiyoomi glances down at his fingers where they’re lightly curled into his palm. His nails are longer than he’d usually let them get. He balls his hands up tighter, just to feel the slightest nip of pain.

And then he lets go.

Wakatoshi slides back into the booth before Kiyoomi can say anything else.

Halfway through his salmon, Kiyoomi feels an ankle knock against his own. He brushes it off as a mistake, considering that they’re all pretty tall and sitting in a pretty small booth. 

At least until it happens again.

Huh.

Kiyoomi doesn’t look up, but maybe he stretches his legs out; just a little bit.

☀☀☀

Kiyoomi dreams of running again.

This time, though, he’s not the one doing the chasing.

He can hear the dreamy echoes of footsteps that are not his own. He catches indistinct glimpses of a figure in dusty window panes. He can feel the urgency, the adrenaline, in his throat.

He runs and he runs and then he stops.

He turns around and waits for the figure to get close enough to see even in the fog of dreaming.

It’s not Wakatoshi’s face staring back at him.

It’s his own.

☀☀☀

“So is there anything specific you wanted to see?” Iwaizumi asks while they’re eating breakfast at his little folding table.

And Kiyoomi pauses because he hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. “Not particularly,” he says slowly. A knee brushes against his. It’s his left side, so it has to be Wakatoshi, but Wakatoshi doesn’t even spare a glance up from his plate.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “We can just drive then, if you’re okay with that?”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi says, and knocks his knee back against Wakatoshi’s.

☀☀☀

The car moves faster than real Kiyoomi or dream Kiyoomi ever could. So he imagines that maybe he'll finally be able to catch up. And then he remembers that Wakatoshi’s in this car with him.

But maybe that isn’t so bad. They’re finally moving at the same speed.

Kiyoomi spends half the drive glancing out the window and the other half catching Wakatoshi’s eye in the rearview mirror. The drive is mostly silent aside from the quiet, tinny pop music coming from the speakers, but there’s something warm and solid in the atmosphere that Kiyoomi can’t quite name.

They stop somewhere Iwaizumi introduces as Point Dume. Kiyoomi stares at the hundreds of footprints pressed into the sand and thinks of running and thinks of slipping through the sand like time between his fingers.

He thinks of falling.

“Wait,” Wakatoshi says when they reach a point on the trail overlooking the ocean. “We should take a picture.”

Kiyoomi thinks about the photo immortalized in Wakatoshi’s phone and imagines how it might feel to be part of a memory like that too.

☀☀☀

There’s more driving, more glances, more heaviness. Something’s welling up inside him, big and overbearing, quietly waiting to overtake him.

There’s something to be said about insignificance, Kiyoomi thinks as they stare at the Bixby Creek Bridge; as they stare at the ocean. 

He doesn’t say it though. Instead, he just stands and smiles for another picture.

☀☀☀

Wakatoshi insists that they trade seats for the drive back, so Kiyoomi gets to see the setting sun cast itself across the dashboard. He glances over and sees the light spread over Iwaizumi’s skin.

Kiyoomi still spends half the drive looking at Wakatoshi via the rearview mirror, but the other half isn’t spent looking out the window anymore.

☀☀☀

That night, Kiyoomi doesn’t dream of running.

In fact, he doesn’t dream at all.

☀☀☀

Day two starts at an IHOP, which Kiyoomi admittedly enjoys more than the Olive Garden.

It continues when Iwaizumi takes them to a shopping mall. It’s interesting, sure, but there isn’t the same peaceful heaviness as Kiyoomi felt yesterday.

When they get back into the car, Kiyoomi assumes they’re gonna go back to the apartment, but Iwaizumi another stop.

It’s a shaved-ice stand. On one hand, Kiyoomi doesn’t usually have a sweet tooth, but on the other hand, it’s just about 30 degrees out.

The heat wins out, which is how Kiyoomi ends up holding a flower-shaped plastic cup piled high with reddish-orange tinted ice. 

“We can eat in the car,” Iwaizumi says after noticing that all of the nearby benches are occupied.

Kiyoomi’s so focused on the condensation and maybe a little bit of spilt syrup clinging to his palm that he almost doesn’t hear Iwaizumi say, “Wait. Hold on, let me park somewhere with more shade.”

They end up parked on a side street shaded by blocky two story buildings. It’s quiet and humid and that heaviness is back. Kiyoomi spoons some of the already melting ice into his mouth. It does little for the feeling in his throat. 

They eat in relative silence (the pop music is still going, of course) and Kiyoomi can only watch as Wakatoshi brings the bowl to his lips to drain the last bit of watery syrup. He can feel the intensity of Wakatoshi’s stare even as his own eyes are glued to the sweaty glow of Wakatoshi’s throat as he swallows. And when Wakatoshi pulls the bowl away, Kiyoomi’s gaze is drawn to the thin line of red trailing down from the corner of his mouth.

Kiyoomi is so caught up that he nearly misses the second gaze fixed on his face. Almost. But that doesn’t matter, because Iwaizumi leans into the passenger seat and drags a thumb slow and firm along that streak of crimson. There’s a sly grin on his lips as he holds eye contact when he slips his thumb into his own mouth. Kiyoomi nearly forgets to breathe even after Iwaizumi turns away.

“You done?” Iwaizumi asks, and Kiyoomi blinks, confused. Iwaizumi nods at Kiyoomi’s plastic cup, slightly crumpled from his grip on it.

Kiyoomi can see that Iwaizumi’s already grabbed Wakatoshi’s cup, it’s green petals peeking out from under Iwaizumi’s blue one. He holds out his own. Iwaizumi is perfectly polite when he grabs it from Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi wonders what would happen if their fingers brushed. Would he feel the lingering heat of Wakatoshi’s mouth, of Iwaizumi’s, against his fingertips?

When Iwaizumi leaves the car to throw the trash away, Kiyoomi’s left alone in the car with Wakatoshi, and Kiyoomi thinks about everything leading up to this moment. He thinks of running and chasing and saying yes to this trip and falling and fleeing and _aching_.

Wakatoshi looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can, the car door opens again, and Iwaizumi slides back in.

There’s a moment where they all just sit and stare at each other, but it doesn’t last long. Kiyoomi watches as Iwaizumi slides a hand along Wakatoshi’s jaw and tugs him closer. Their lips meet and Kiyoomi doesn’t even dare to breathe. He catches a glimpse of Iwaizumi’s blue-stained tongue and Wakatoshi’s red-stained one. His thoughts are violet in technicolor. His desires are crystalline amethyst cultured right in his chest. He wants like he always wants, but maybe this time, he can _have_.

Kiyoomi hears a murmured _Hajime_ right before Wakatoshi pulls away. 

“What do you want, Kiyoomi?” Wakatoshi’s mouth is solid and confident around the shapes of his name. _ki yō mi_ , he says in that humid-heavy tone, and Kiyoomi _wants_ , so, so badly.

Yet another precipice. Yet another choice. And yet another _yes_. It’s the bright flush on Wakatoshi’s cheeks, and it’s the spit-slick glint off Iwaizumi’s lips, and it’s the curling in Kiyoomi’s own chest that makes him say, “You. Both of you.”

And then there’s a hand pulling him in and lips on his own.

Kiyoomi thinks about how it's sweeter than he could’ve ever imagined, probably due to the syrup still clinging to their lips. But maybe also due to the honey gold feeling dripping down his lungs. 

There are firm fingers grasping the base of his neck and a palm brushing against his thigh and Kiyoomi melts, sticky and saccharine, into the feeling.

☀☀☀

They get back to the apartment sometime in the late afternoon.

After clicking on the fan, Iwaizumi heads into the kitchen to get water, or at least that’s what Kiyoomi thinks he’s doing.

“Hey, Sakusa-kun,” Iwaizumi calls. Kiyoomi turns to see him dangling a ziploc bag from his fingers. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

It takes Kiyoomi a second to register what he’s seeing. They’re joints, he’s pretty sure, but his hesitation must be obvious, because Iwaizumi quickly adds, “You can totally say no.”

And Kiyoomi really considers it. But, when in Rome, right? “I don’t mind,” he says, finally.

Iwaizumi comes back to the couch holding the bag between his teeth and three sweating glasses of water. He deposits the glasses onto the coffee table and pulls an ashtray and a lighter from the bottom shelf.

Kiyoomi grabs a glass just to have something to do. He takes a sip as he watches Iwaizumi open the bag, pull a joint out, and then carefully reseal the bag. Kiyoomi spares a glance over at Wakatoshi, who actually doesn’t look fazed at all. _Has he done this before?_

The sharp click of the lighter brings Kiyoomi’s focus back to Iwaizumi. He watches Iwaizumi take a slow inhale and hold for a few seconds before giving a slow exhale. Kiyoomi can admit that it looked pretty elegant.

And then Kiyoomi watches as Iwaizumi offers the joint to Wakatoshi, who takes it with no hesitation. Wakatoshi takes his own decent hit and well, _he has definitely done this before_ , Kiyoomi thinks. The joint goes back to Iwaizumi, who taps the ash into the tray and puffs once, twice. 

And then he offers it to Kiyoomi. “Only if you want to.”

But Kiyoomi decides that since he’s come this far, he might as well. When he’s here, he doesn’t want to be SAKUSA (impersonally announced on huge speakers): spiker, Jackal, wary. Maybe he wants to be _ki yō mi_ (intimately murmured from careful lips): lover, domesticated, unafraid. 

He takes the joint and brings it to his mouth. It feels strange and he probably exhales way too fast, but he takes the fact that he didn’t choke as a win.

When he hands the joint back, his fingers brush against Iwaizumi’s and it feels like burning right in his fingertips and right in his chest.

☀☀☀

Wakatoshi is a solid mass under his thighs and Kiyoomi is so, so warm, but right now, he can deal with it. 

A hand lightly turns his chin away. And then there’s a mouth on his pushing smoke into his lungs. Iwaizumi grins at him and leans in to press a kiss on his sweat-damp throat.

When he turns his head to exhale, Kiyoomi stares out the window at the setting sun and wonders if this is what summer’s supposed to feel like. If it’s supposed to feel like the cool linoleum against the damp spaces behind his knees. Like the _fizz pop_ of ice-cold soda on heavy tongues. Like the cut of sunlight across flushed faces. Like this and that and them.

“ _Wakatoshi_ ,” Iwaizumi sighs, and Kiyoomi leans over to taste those syllables out of his mouth. 

Kiyoomi presses his spiker hand, his lover hand, against Iwaizumi’s chest just long enough to feel three _thump, thump, thump_ s of his heart. 

Kiyoomi wonders if his feels the same.

☀☀☀

They spend their last day in California just driving again.

Summer's hot and sticky and muggy and Kiyoomi hates everything about it. Well, he glances to his left and then into the rearview mirror, almost everything.

 _In the rearview mirror  
I saw the setting sun on your neck  
And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me_  
-Mitski, "Once More to See You"

**Author's Note:**

> i have never been to california.  
> \--  
> let's be friends on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nyamayachi) :)


End file.
